


Rivals

by JantoJones



Series: Further Brief Briefings [28]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 06:38:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17657837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/pseuds/JantoJones





	Rivals

The bottle, and two shot glasses, sat in the centre of an otherwise empty table. The late-evening sunlight streaming into the window, refracted through the clear liquid within, and left a rainbow lying on the wooden surface. Sitting on opposite sides of the table, two men weighed each other up. Each wondered who would take the victory, though both knew the answer.

It had all begun as friendly rivalry between new partners; a natural competitiveness which exists between those who are forced to work closely together. One had claimed that he was stronger than the other, which had been resolutely rebutted. Soon after, following the urging of colleagues, a series of physical tests had been arranged. One won some, the other won the rest, but no clear victor emerged. Both men were too equally matched.

To those observing, the battle had concluded in a draw, so they went off to find other avenues of entertainment. For the two men however, things were far from over and, although their friendship never wavered, their battle for superiority endured and hardened over time. Then a falling out had come.

One had made a careless mistake which had led to the other getting badly hurt. It hadn’t been pre-meditated, but it should have been avoided, and this caused a rift between the two; albeit temporary.

While there was discord between the partners, their brotherly rivalry was suspended, and a war of words had ensued. Naturally, although their vocabulary was different, they were still equal in vitriol.

The rift had been open for three days when one approached the other with a ceasefire proposal. A private meeting was arranged, and a bottle was offered in peace and camaraderie. The man who had brought the vodka opened the bottle and poured two shots. He handed one to the other, whose bruises were still purple on his battered face. No toast was given, and both drinks were downed in unison. 

This went on until three quarters of the vodka was gone. The uninjured man could take no more, and he gracefully slid from the chair and landed in an untidy heap. The other smiled grimly at having won this battle, before picking up the bottle and draining it of its contents. As the custom of his people dictated, he placed the empty bottle on the floor. A little unsteadily, he retrieved a blanket from the bedroom and covered his slumbering partner, before collapsing heavily onto the sofa.

………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The following morning brought pain to the two men but, luckily, they had taken the precaution of taking the day off. Neither man was in a fit state to save the world. Groaning loudly, Napoleon Solo opened his eyes, and quickly realised he was lying on Illya’s apartment floor. Pulling himself up, he found the Russian sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands. Realising that Solo was moving, Illya stood up, a little shakily, and headed for the kitchen. Napoleon carefully climbed to his feet and followed him in.

“Coffee?” Illya asked.

“Please.”

A few minutes later, the two men were back at the table. Each had their hands around a mug, and were breathing in the aroma of the coffee.

“Forgive me Illya. I’m sorry, and I swear it won’t happen again.”

Illya snorted.

“Yes, it will. But next time it could be the other way around. Making mistakes is what makes us human.”

Napoleon smiled at the acceptance of his apology.

“How about I take you out for breakfast?”

“Make it lunch,” Illya commented, looking at his watch. “It’s already 11:30.”


End file.
